Only Just
by PhoenixHalliwell13
Summary: {Edmund has completely frozen in his spot where he is about a few feet behind Peter, and he stares up at Jadis with a kind of fascinated horror. "What have you done?" he breathes, his horror-struck voice barely above a whisper. Because now the White Witch stands before them in all her terrible, beautiful glory, flesh and blood once more.}
1. Chapter 1: Temptation

**Disclaimer: **I am not C.S Lewis, nor am I a Hollywood producer. I am just a 14 year old girl who is totally and completely obsessed with Edmund Pevensie, hence the name 'fanfiction'.

_So this is my first Narnia fanfiction. I've had a recent obsession with our very own Just King, and have several story ideas with him smack in the center, and this is the one I decided to go with, just the classic, cliché the-white-witch-returns-in-Prince-Caspian plot. It revolves mostly around Edmund, and also focuses a lot on his relationship with Peter (brotherly ONLY), though the others will have a large part in it as well. (FYI, there will be Suspian [Caspian/Susan])_

**1. TEMPTATION**

_{ "Most dangerous is that temptation that doth goad us on to sin in loving virtue." –William Shakespeare }_

Prince Caspian the Tenth stalks angrily through Aslan's How, his brown eyes never meeting those of the Narnians he passes. He is afraid and ashamed of what he will see in them: anger, betrayal, hurt; all directed at him, reminding him of his failure, not just to Narnia, but to the Great Lion Himself. He is a failure, to both Narnia and her people.

The soon-to-be king lets out a greatly relieved breath of air as he reaches the tunnel that leads to the room where the Stone Table is located, and finally finds himself surrounded by no one but himself. He needs to be alone, he needs to get away. He can't stand all the accusing looks and the High King's angered glares. He can't face Susan's ashamed glances, or the Just King's stoic expression, or Lucy's grieving features as she looks over how many of their numbers have been lost in the raid. He needs to get away from the sounds of the sobs of widows, away from the memories of watching the slaughter and murder of the Narnians trapped in the castle. He just needs to get _away; _by Aslan, he can't take this!

The images bombard him: blood, death, carnage. He feels sick, and his throat closes up, making it hard to breathe through his grief, the memories overwhelming him. He can only push away tears and the smoldering ache in his chest by bringing forth anger, letting _that _consume him instead of the heartache of loss and guilt, pushing the blame on others, on _Peter. _None of this would have happened if it hadn't been for him! This is all _his _fault.

Caspian growls beneath his breath as he stops in front of the stone wall with the carving that shows the coronation of the Four. He can't help thinking that they look much more magnificent in the drawing. But in his mind's eye, High King Peter in no way deserves his title of Magnificent. He is as presumptuous and as arrogant as they come, and Caspian had expected better from the High King of Old. A king is supposed to be confident in their abilities, Caspian knows, but there is a thin line between confidence and arrogance, and King Peter has since long ago passed it. Even his picture on the wall seems to radiate arrogance. That arrogance has gotten so many killed, has nearly killed him time and time again! Caspian can think of no one less deserving of being a king.

"Are you still glad for the arrival of the Kings and Queens of Old _now?" _comes a raspy voice from behind him.

Caspian quickly turns to see the Black Dwarf, Nikkabrik, emerge from the shadows cast by the light from the flickering torches. He is instantly weary around him, for he knows that Black Dwarfs are not to be easily trusted, and that most used to work for the White Witch, Jadis, centuries ago. Nikkabrik is a shady character and Caspian has not spoken to him much. Still, the dwarf has fought well for them and Caspian knows he is close to Trufflehunter, another devoted Narnian. Perhaps he should listen to what Nikkabrik has to say. It can't hurt anything, right?

The Dwarf continues, his words echoing in the tunnel and resonating closely with Caspian's own feelings. "The queens have done nothing; the eldest one blindly follows orders and the younger just yammers on about her invisible lion."

Although Caspian's immediate reaction is to defend Susan, and the younger one, too, and to defend Aslan, knowing he should, he can't bring himself to speak; not when he sees the truth in Nikkabrik's statement, no matter how he abhors it. Susan follows Peter regardless of their disagreements and arguments. And as for Queen Lucy's faith in Aslan… he wants to believe her, he really does. He wants to know that the Great Lion is real, and that somewhere out there, He is protecting him from harm, watching over him, over them all. But he can't stop himself from thinking… if Aslan really is real and not just some made up storybook tale, then where is He? Where was He when all those Narnian soldiers died for nothing? Why hadn't He stopped the High King from making that deadly mistake? Why hadn't He saved his father, or stopped Miraz? If He is so great and so real, then where is He when they all need Him?

Then Nikkabrik hits the center of Caspian's ire, the target of his recent anger. "And what has the _magnificent _High King done? Put you down; taken over. Led your army into a massacre."

It is as though he knows exactly the right buttons to push.

Despair rises in Caspian's heart as the Black Dwarf opens his eyes to the reality of the Sovereigns he has so idolized as a child. In a last hope, he tries desperately to cling to the image of them being the brave heroes he has always imagined them to be before. "But King Edmund... he has not failed," he says, speaking of the one of the Four whom he knows the least about and has had the least contact with.

"Hasn't he?" answers Nikkabrik with a sneer. "He's a strong fighter and he's done well enough in battle, but he doesn't understand that it takes more than blind faith to win a war. He prays to Aslan, but has the Lion ever answered? He follows the High King without question; where did that get him? He can't see past the Lion, past his brother, to see what it takes to get what you want."

Caspian hesitates before he responds, his intrigue battling with his loyalty to the kings and queens that the Dwarf is now speaking ill of. Intrigue wins. "And you think you can help me?"

Nikkabrik grins, and the feature somehow doesn't look right on his face. It looks cruel and demented. "Oh, we can help." _We? _ "We can help you take your uncle's throne, take his blood. We can help you take anything you desire."

Nikkabrik's nasty grin widens, and he can no doubt see that the prince is tempted by his offer. How can he resist? This is all that he has ever wanted, and Nikkabrik is ready to practically hand it to him on a silver platter. He can dethrone his uncle; he can be King.

Nikkabrik slowly disappears down one of the side branches of the tunnel, obviously expecting Caspian to follow. Caspian hesitates for a moment, glancing at the carvings on the wall of the Kings and Queens of Old one last time. A seed of misgiving grows in his stomach. Is he betraying them by going behind their backs? But despite his fleeting doubts, Caspian once again turns away and trails after Nikkabrik down the passage.

The tunnel leads the two of them into the room where the cracked Stone Table is located from the side of the large room, opposite of the main entrance. They pass behind the great stone arch, and Caspian cannot help but look up at the engraving of Aslan. Cold, lifeless eyes stare back and Caspian turns away feeling slightly unnerved, looking back at Nikkabrik who is speaking again.

"You tried one ancient power; they failed. But there are other powers older and greater. You just have to be willing to use them."

Caspian looks around, suddenly hyper-alert as he hears heavy breathing nearby. He steps forward and draws his sword from its sheath. "Who's there?" he demands, and two figures seem to melt from the walls themselves, becoming corporeal.

A limping figure answers in a deep, rasping voice, "I am hunger. I am thirst. I can fast a hundred years and not die. I can lie a hundred nights on the ice and not freeze." The voice gives him an uneasy feeling and he starts to think that maybe this wasn't the best idea.

The two figures move closer and Caspian sees that the speaker has a hairy, spittle-ridden snout and is covered by a cloak, while its companion seems to be an old woman of some kind with a beak for a nose.

"I can drink a river of blood and not burst," it continues, "show… me… your… enemies!"

Caspian jumps in surprise and shudders when the figure throws back his cloak with a vicious snarl, revealing the fierce head of a Werewulf. The old woman—_a Hag, _his mind whispers—approaches in a mockingly reverent manner. "What you hate, so will we. No one hates better than us."

Although the deepest parts of his soul are screaming to turn away, to not listen to the foul creatures, Caspian's roaring anger overcomes them. Miraz killed his father, killed his Narnian friends; he deserves to die and Caspian does not care how it happens, as long as it gets done. "And you can guarantee Miraz's death?"

"And _more," _croons the Hag, bowing slightly. In his mind's eye, Caspian sees flashes of what could be: himself on the Narnian throne, Miraz dead, the Telemarines forced to keep peace with Narnia, Peter, kneeling, forced to acknowledge his power and authority.

Another picture flashes through his mind: Queen Lucy crying, King Edmund staring at him in disbelief and disgust, Susan looking at him with the utmost disappointment before turning her back on him—but his mind is distracted as the Hag orders a circle to be drawn. The Werewulf drags a claw through the dirt, circling Caspian like a vulture as the Hag chants words in some sort of other language that makes Caspian's ears hurt. Nikkabrik watches silently, his eyes glinting wickedly, looking excited.

The chant rises to a louder volume and Caspian's eyes widen as the Hag withdraws a wand from her cloak, the end splint and jagged. It looks familiar, as if he has seen it in a drawing of some sort. Before he can say anything, the Hag slams the wand into the ground of the stone steps that lead up to the archway. An icy chill fills the air as ice spreads from the wand up the steps and over the stone arch. As a wall of ice climbs up between the pillars, Caspian feels as though he is standing outside in the middle of an ice-cold winter.

But it is the figure that chills his very soul. His anger goes cold, his self-hatred flees, and all thoughts of revenge disappear. What remains is fear; ice cold fear so strong that it feels as though it could easily swallow him whole, because _She _is here, her, the epitome of everything dark, and cold, and evil.

She is supposed to be long gone, but she isn't, not anymore. Because here, right before his eyes and floating in a prison of ice, is who can only be Jadis, the White Witch.

The complete and utter horror Caspian feels at the sight turns his stomach. _What have I done?_

**oOoOoOo**

Peter is sulking when it happens. Much like Caspian, Peter Pevensie, High King of Narnia, has become a slave to his thoughts, unable to stop the images of the battle at the castle from playing through his mind. He is supposed to be sleeping as Susan has told him after the long day, but no matter how hard he tries, he can't bring himself to slumber, not when all the dark memories of fear and bloodshed play themselves over and over behind his eyelids each time he dares to close his eyes. He doesn't want to dwell on the failure that he knows is no one's fault but his, yet he finds himself able to think of nothing else. That is why he is extremely thankful and relieved when a Hound bursts in the room looking as though he is bearing important news, distracting the King from his thoughts.

That is, before the Hound opens his mouth and Peter hears what he has to say.

"Your Majesty, your Majesty! Ye must come quickly!"

Peter turns to face the Hound, whose name he is fairly positive is Dijdevn. The Hound's nose is twitching, a sure sign that he has smelled something off, and his black opal eyes are very alert, alight with panic. His head is raised high while his front paws claw anxiously at the ground.

"Yes?" Peter asks, trying to remain calm despite the Hound's foreboding demeanor. "What is so important that it would have you disturb me so?" He lets a hint of annoyance creep into his tone, making it clear that he would rather be left alone, but without being downright rude about it.

"It is a Werewulf, my King! It has breached the boundaries and has made it inside the How!" Dijdevn exclaims urgently.

Peter's eyes widen and he, like the Hound, is instantly alert. His right hand flies to his side where his sword is sheathed without even realizing what he is doing. "Where? Have you seen it?" he demands. If a Werewulf has breached their boundaries, that is not good. Their army is smaller after the disastrous raid; if a Werewulf can get through their defenses, what is stopping any other monstrous creatures from attacking?

"No, your Majesty, I has not, but I has smelled it. Near the Stone Table, sir."

And that's all it takes, for Hounds can smell out nearly anything; their noses are never wrong. If Dijdevn says he has smelt a Werewulf in the How, then he has done exactly that. Without even stopping to think about it, Peter draws his sword, ready to go after the foul beast.

"Dijdevn," he calls back to the Hound, "find Trumpkin the Dwarf and tell him of the Werewulf. Make sure he warns my brother and sisters."

Without looking back at Dijdevn, he rushes out of the door, holding Rhindon in front of him as he weaves his way through the passageways, desperate to find the tunnel that leads to the Stone Table room. After about five minutes of endless searching Peter is getting really frustrated when finally he finds the correct passage. He runs down it and raises Rhindon up high. He is nearing the door, about halfway there, when suddenly someone grabs him from behind, stilling him.

"_What do you think you're doing?!" _hisses a voice that the High King immediately recognizes as Edmund's. He turns around to face his brother and is met not with just one incredulous face, but also the incredulous faces of his sisters. Susan and Lucy stand somewhat behind Edmund, Susan with her bow strapped to her back and Lucy with her dagger poised high. Trumpkin hovers behind Lucy. They have definitely gotten the message about the Werewulf, though it is a bit sooner than he has hoped.

"What is _wrong _with you?" is the first thing to come out of Edmund's mouth. "Were you really going to go charging after the Werewulf by yourself?"

"I've got it handled!" These words only seem to make Edmund angrier, but Peter can't really bring himself to care. What is his brother's problem?! He doesn't need a babysitter; he can handle a Werewulf alone. He's High King! Why can't Edmund just _listen to him _for once?!

"And when you get killed because you are too prideful to just ask for back up?" Edmund seethes. "Will you have it 'handled' then?"

"I'm not going to get killed!" Peter yells, exasperated. "Because, as I've _already told you, _I've got. It. Handled! I don't need your bloody help!"

Anger is coursing through Peter's veins and he's so wrapped up in his current rage that he doesn't notice Edmund's stung look, nor does he register Susan's stunned face. Edmund opens his mouth no doubt to shout something else that is equally infuriating at him, but is cut off when Lucy yells shrilly, "_Stop! _All this arguing isn't helping!"

Everyone turns to face Lucy, who is glaring fiercely at them all. Peter knows she is deadly serious, because the youthful Valiant Queen rarely glares or gets angry at anyone.

Edmund is the first to recover. "Lucy's right, this isn't helping," he says, and then turns to Lucy. "Sorry, Lu. Forgive me?"

She gives him a small smile and nods. "It's alright. Now come on! We're wasting time!" With that, all four of them run through the door of the Stone Table room. Peter holds his sword high, ready for an attack.

Dashing into the room, Peter grows cold. The temperature has dropped several degrees and is now below freezing, all caused by the wall of ice now between the pillars of the stone archway. Impossibly, the cold, nightmarish face that Peter thought he would never see again is frozen in the ice, her intense eyes locked on Caspian, beckoning him forward. The prince himself is still, sword hanging uselessly at his side as he reaches his bloodied hand out toward the Witch who is also reaching toward him, looking almost as though he is in a trance. A circle has been drawn around him in the dirt, and three figures stand off to the side, watching excitedly; the Werewulf Dijdevn warned him about, a Hag, and—wait a second—was that _Nikkabrik?! _Why, that little traitor!

Peter rushes toward Caspian, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees Edmund snap out of the shock that the sight of the Witch no doubt put him in, and now Edmund races beside him, pulling out his sword while running, Trumpkin close behind him, along with the girls. The Werewulf is growling as it jumps atop the broken Stone Table, snarling at them. It jumps through the air over their heads and Edmund's sword whips through the air a second too late as the Werewulf lands behind them, blocking the entrance and leaving no way for the two kings to reach their sisters.

Nikkabrik and the Hag immediately attack as well, and Edmund faces off against the Werewulf as Peter is forced to turn his attention to the Hag as she attacks him. He can hear the clang of Trumpkin and Nikkabrik's swords close by. No doubt the Dwarf took Nikkabrik's betrayal as a personal insult.

Peter swings Rhindon at the Hag, but she anticipates this move and blocks it with her knife, the metals clanging against each other as she twists it downward so his blade bangs against the Stone Table, almost causing him to lose his grip on the hilt. A few feet away, Edmund's battle isn't going much better; Peter sees the Werewulf flip him over as he stabs it in the side, but he has no time to see if his brother is alright, for he is distracted by a cry from Lucy, who has her arm twisted behind her back by Nikkabrik.

Peter, trying to gain his bearings from the Hag's assault on him, tries to scramble up in time to reach his sister who lies helpless under Nikkabrik's blade. But Trumkin gets there first, coming up behind the unsuspecting Dwarf and stabbing him in the back, killing him instantly. One crisis adverted, Peter turns his attention back to Caspian who is nearing the White Witch still, his eyes clouded over and unfocused. He bolts over to them, slamming into Caspian from the side and sending him tumbling to the ground, so he is now facing off with Jadis, instead of the ignorant prince.

"Get away from him!" he yells, sword held high and ready to run her through. Jadis' hand, which had been reaching for Caspian's, retracts slightly as a momentary frown crosses her face before being replaced by a seemingly-friendly smile.

"_Peter, dear,"_ she says, smiling at him warmly, her voice like the smoothest silk, _"I've missed you." _Her hand pushes farther out of the ice, now reaching toward _him. "Come, just one drop," _she beckons. Peter's sword wavers, and he suddenly feels uncertain. Her voice is heavenly, melodic, and he feels mesmerized. She's drawing him in, like a moth to a flame. He's not sure of anything except that if she stops talking, then terrible things will happen.

What is it he was going to do? Run her through with his sword? It's so hard to remember… But why would he want to do that? Why would he want to hurt the owner of this beautiful voice, to end this woman who tempts him so? He wants to please her, to be worthy of her, and he knows he will do whatever she asks of him… but will it be enough?

"_You know you can't do this alone," _she practically purrs, and on some inner level, rationality tells him that of course this isn't true. He has Susan, Edmund, Lucy, and the whole of Narnia by his side. But by this time all rationality has fled him, leaving him defenseless against her persuasive words. She's right; he can't do this alone. He has failed; failed his family, failed himself, failed _Aslan. _He needs _help. _And she can give it to him.

Feeling all the resolve, all the fight, leak out of him, he lowers Rhindon back to his side and inches toward the Witch, not even noticing that somehow the Hag had managed to cut his hand with her knife without him noticing. He hesitantly raises his bloody palm outward toward her, and to the right of him Caspian stands and does the same.

"_Take my hand, boys." _The excitement in her voice is blatantly obvious as she reaches for them, her arm now nearly completely out of the ice. _"Just one drop and I'm yours."_

For a moment it seems as if the boys will break away, but then they each step forward. Still staring into her eyes, they hold their hands—each covered in blood—out to meet the Witch's. They are just inches away, their feet still within the circle. They are reaching, reaching…

"_NO!" _

Peter hears Edmund's desperate, frantic cry as he realizes what they are doing and speeds towards them, but Peter pays it no mind and neither does Caspian as their hands make contact with the White Witch's.

A cruel smile stretches its way across the Witch's face as the boys' blood meets her hand. The ice around her seems to crack and then, with a flash of blinding white light, the wall of ice breaks, shattering into millions of little shards. As the ice flies through the air in all directions everyone is forced to duck, hiding their head in their hands to avoid getting hit.

The ice seems to fall for hours when really it is only just seconds. When the pieces stop raining down on them, Peter warily removes his hands. His breath catches in his throat as he takes in the sight before him: the White Witch standing before them, flesh and blood once more. In her hand is her ice wand that was previously in the ground, now in perfectly one piece, and she wears her dress of the purest white. Everything is completely quiet, everyone stunned into silence. Even the air seems to cower.

Edmund has completely frozen in his spot where he is about a few feet behind Peter, and he stares up at Jadis with a kind of fascinated horror. "What have you _done?" _he breathes, his horror-struck voice barely above a whisper. Peter isn't sure who the question is directed at: him, Caspian, or Jadis herself, but whoever the words are meant for, they make him reel back in shock, feeling as though someone has doused him in ice water. The haze that had clouded his mind is now gone, leaving nothing behind but absolute horror, guilt, and self-loathing for what he has now done. One glance at Caspian, and the king can tell he feels the same.

Peter and Caspian stand directly before the White Witch who smiles at them, all fake sweetness gone and replaced by a look of triumph and utter hatred. The two of them stumble backwards, Peter bringing up his sword and Caspian reaching to unsheathe his. From behind them, Edmund raises his as well, though Peter can see that his hands are shaking.

"Now, now, boys, none of that." The Witch's voice drips in false caring and even though he has snapped out of the trance she put him in, he still can't help being slightly swayed by her words. He has long ago forgiven Edmund for betraying them to Jadis, but he has never before now understood how, _why, _he could do such a thing. But now as he listens to her spin her words, twisting her tempting promises into something that seems to be truth, he understands how Edmund must have fell for her tricks, believing every lie that passed her lips. Even now, Peter has a hard time remembering that she is the enemy, that she seeks nothing but the deaths of him and his siblings.

"After all, it was the two of you who saved me," she continues, and her truthful words are like a knife to the heart because now she _lives, _and he did that, he _did it._

She waves her wand almost lazily, and his and Caspian's swords fly out of their hands, clattering to the ground at the Witch's feet. Guilt and fear battle for dominance inside Peter as he realizes he now stands helpless in front of Jadis, hopelessly at her mercy. Out of the corner of his eye, Peter sees Trumpkin push Lucy behind him, protecting her. He can't see Susan, and she has been absent from the action since they entered the room, and he hopes that no harm has befallen her. He hears an intake of breath from behind him and suddenly Edmund has made his way forward so he is standing between Peter and Caspian, and the Witch, guarding them just as Trumpkin is guarding Lucy.

"Ed, _no!" _Peter hisses, his eyes wide and locked on his brother. "Get back!"

Edmund's face is stark white with fear, and it is obviously taking a lot of courage and strength for him to willingly place himself before the Witch, yet he still does so, and now pure fear runs through Peter's veins, not for _himself, _but for _his brother _who is willingly putting his life on the line in order to protect his.

Edmund predictably ignores his pleas—_"why can't you ever just do as you're told?!"—_keeping his place of standing protectively between Jadis and Peter. Peter feels the weight of what he and Caspian just did pressing down on him. How could he be so stupid? What had come over him, over both of them? Peter isn't quite sure, but the numb, peaceful feeling of standing before the ice queen still remains, and his shame grows even greater.

The Witch meets Edmund's eyes and the sadistic smile on her face grows even more, though her eyes remain as cold as the ice she was encased in. Peter can see Edmund's fearful expression reflected in her icy orbs, and Peter wants more than anything to tell his brother that this is just a nightmare. He wants to hold him and tell him it's just a dream, like he used to when he would be woken in the night to Edmund's terrified screams, only he can't this time because this time it's real; _she's _real.

"Edmund," she purrs, her voice like tinkling crystals, "how long it has been."

"Not nearly long enough," he replies curtly, holding his sword out. Peter is impressed by how controlled his brother's voice sounds, without even the slightest tremor, even though he is very clearly petrified.

Jadis' smile falters for a fraction of a second, seeming surprised that he is standing up against her, but it is only for a moment. "Now, Edmund, don't be like that," she says, "after all, we have such… history."

Peter doesn't like the way she speaks of her and Edmund's 'history', of his time imprisoned by her. It's almost mocking, as though she is taunting him, trying to cut him with her words. Edmund doesn't seem to like this either, judging by the way he stiffens, his eyes going cold, almost as cold as the ice queen herself.

"And that's all it is," he tells her with a sort of finality that only he can manage, "history."

Jadis presses her lips together, but otherwise appears to have no reaction to his words. "Maybe so," she admits, "but you'll be surprised by what a large part the past plays in the present. It cannot be forgiven or forgotten."

Her words give Peter a foreboding feeling, and he sees a flicker of something undistinguishable—uncertainty? Guilt? - flash through Edmund's shadowed eyes before they are once again indifferent.

"It doesn't matter!" comes Lucy's voice from behind them. "Aslan defeated you once—he'll do it again!" Her voice is fierce and determined, showing that she has no doubt about her words. Trumpkin gives her a look that is obviously meant to shut her up, and Peter can't help but agree with the Dwarf. _Does she have a death wish?! _

The Witch laughs, high and cruel, sending shivers up Peter's spine. "Aslan?" she repeats disbelievingly. "I don't see him around anywhere," she says, pretending to look around as if the Great Lion would suddenly just appear. "Do you?"

Edmund's face is stony, making it impossible for Peter to tell what he is thinking. Lucy raises her chin defiantly, and still no doubt crosses her features at Jadis' words. Her faith in Aslan is absolute, while his is nothing but. It pains him to see his sister's faith in Him, because he knows how heartbroken she will be when that faith in Him is proven false. After all, he thinks, if Aslan truly does care then He would be here now, and He would have stopped all those deaths. His faith in the Lion has been broken. He's not sure when he realized this, but he knows it started the day the four of them tumbled out of the Wardrobe, stuck in the bodies of their younger selves.

And Aslan did that. He tore them away from Narnia, away from their home.

"Face it, young one," the Witch continues speaking to Lucy, "you are alone. The Great Lion you cherish above all else has abandoned you, child."

"No," Lucy says, "He'll never be gone. Not as long as those who remain are loyal to Him."

Peter flinches at her choice of words.

Jadis' eyes flare, Lucy's words seeming to fuel the fire of her fury until it reaches the boiling point. Edmund seems to realize this first as he steps back to stand in front of Lu instead of Peter and Caspian.

"Leave her alone," he growls

Jadis regards Edmund as nothing but a minor annoyance as she flicks her wand in his direction and he is thrown away from Lucy through the empty air, hitting the stone wall with a surprised yelp and a sickening crack before sliding down to the ground where he lay in a crumpled heap, unmoving.

"_Ed!" _The scream tears painfully from Peter's throat as his brother's skull hits the wall with a loud crack. He lays on the ground without a movement, and if it isn't for the slow, slight rise and fall of his chest, Peter would think he is dead. He stares at Edmund's still form like someone caught in a dream, because this can't be happening, it just _can't._

In the second she knocks aside Edmund she has knocked aside Trumpkin as well, and she now holds Lucy up by the neck as the young Valiant Queen struggles in her grasp, clawing futilely at Jadis' fingers around her neck, gasping for breath.

"Who are _you _to speak to _me _in such a way, _little girl?"_ she hisses. Peter runs and grasps Rhindon who was still on the ground and scrambles over to Lucy and the Witch. To the left he finally catches sight of Susan who looks utterly panicked, her bow out and an arrow pulled back, ready to fire. But in less time than it takes to blink, the Witch has her wand pressed into Lucy's neck, making both Susan and Peter freeze in their tracks.

"I can kill her in less time it takes you to even think about it," she warns, her voice deadly as she eyes Peter's raised sword and Susan's bow. And Peter knows she's not bluffing; she _will _do it, and she wouldn't even think twice.

Slowly, oh so very slowly, Susan and Peter lower their weapons. Lucy's face is now turning blue from lack of oxygen, and Jadis allows her grip to slacken some.

"She'll be with her beloved Lion soon," says the Witch, looking over at Lucy's terrified face, "where she belongs." She then looks at Susan, Caspian, and Peter each in turn. "You have until after the sun sets tomorrow to find me and surrender your army," she tells them. She digs her nails into the skin of Lucy's neck, making her cry out in pain. "Or your Valiant Queen dies."

For a moment she herself seems to shimmer, as if she stands underwater. Then she vanishes on the spot, taking Lucy with her.

**oOoOoOo**

Susan's bow falls from her violently shaking hands as she finds herself no longer able to shoulder its weight. It hits the stone ground with a loud clatter that echoes loudly in the dense silence that has enveloped the room. Caspian's eyes are wide and horrified, while Peter's still stare vacantly at the place where Lucy last stood, as if expecting her to reappear at any moment and yell, 'Gotcha!' The Gentle Queen finds herself unable to tear her eyes away either, and a sudden surge of dizziness sweeps over her that threatens to send her following her bow to the ground. The panic of the situation that Caspian and Peter have landed them in doesn't seem to register, and she just feels an aching numbness spread throughout her, because all she can possibly comprehend at that moment is that Lu... that Lucy...

_You have until after the sun sets tomorrow to surrender your army. Or your Valiant Queen dies._

_Or your Valiant Queen dies._

Knees shaking, eyes stinging, Susan stumbles backwards, bringing up a hand to cover her mouth in despair. _Lucy. Lucy Lucy Lucy Lucy. _It's a mantra, like a record stuck on replay, each word resulting in a sharp pain in her chest. Her back hits something hard—she has backed herself up against the wall—and she slides down it, slumping in on herself, her knees pulled up to her chest.

Tears spill down her porcelain cheeks. "Lucy…" she whispers brokenly, muffling a sob that rises up in her throat.

Across the room, Peter's eyes widen and he suddenly looks very attentive. "Edmund!" he exclaims in realization, worry and fear coating the one word as he instantly drops his sword and rushes across the stone chamber toward their fallen brother.

Susan gasps through her tears, watching through blurry eyes as Peter kneels beside Edmund, pressing his fingers to the side of his neck (which is bloodied from the hard hit he took to the back of his head) to check for a pulse. How could she have been so horrible as to forget about Edmund?

"Is—Is he-?" Her breath is ragged as she speaks to Peter, unable to speak the words out loud. Her youngest sibling has been taken captive by Jadis; if anything has happened to Edmund as well she just couldn't bear it-!

"He's alive," Peter says, and even from across the room she can hear the relief in his voice. But Susan's worry for her youngest brother only grows at Peter's answer. _He's alive. _But that makes it sound as if...

"Is he _hurt?" _she presses him, and he nods, his face grim.

"He hit the wall rather hard. It's possible he has a concussion."

Susan stifles a moan behind her hand.

"Could we not use Queen Lucy's cordial on His Magesty?" comes a gruff voice from Susan's left. She jumps in surprise, and both Caspian and Peter both look startled, all of them having forgot that Trumpkin is even still in the room.

"Huh?" Peter repeats distractedly, still staring down at Edmund, who Susan can now see has a rather nasty looking wound on the back of his head where it hit the wall. If she looks closely enough she can see that his hair is thickly matted with blood. She looks to Peter, hoping that he will have a positive answer to Trumpkin's question, that, yes, they can use the cordial to heal Edmund, but to her dismay, the elder king shakes his head. "No, unfortunately not. Lucy never lets that cordial out of her sight; she always has it on her, which means that she'll of had it on her when…" _When she was taken._

Peter can't even stomach saying the words, and Susan doesn't blame him. The thought of innocent Lucy in the grasp of that _monster _makes her want to sick up.

"Will he be alright?" Caspian asks, finally shaken somewhat out of his frozen stupor.

Peter's eyes are locked on Edmund as he smoothes back the matted hair from the boy's forehead. "I don't know," he whispers, eyes filled with so much guilt that Susan can hardly stand to look. He doesn't seem to realize it is Caspian who has spoken, for when he does, his head snaps up in the direction of the prince, the guilt in his eyes replaced by something else: anger.

"_You _did this," he snarls, abruptly standing up and clutching the hilt of his sword at his side, his knuckles white. "This is all _your _fault!"

Caspian seems stunned by the hateful words, and so is Susan, for this is not the Peter she knows. This Peter is hateful and bitter and raging, and at that moment she can hardly recognize him.

Caspian's eyes are filled with both guilt and anger at the High King's words. "_My _fault?!" he exclaims incredulously. "How am I any more to blame for this than you, _Your Majesty?"_

The words are a mockery, and blue eyes flare in response. "_You _called up the Witch! _You _released her!"

"So did _YOU!" _Caspian yells loudly, but Peter acts as if he hasn't spoken.

"You say you grew up hearing all sorts of stories about Narnia and the hundred year winter, and of the Witch's rein over Narnia; did it perhaps occur to you that releasing Jadis would be _bad_?! Now you've put the whole of Narnia in danger, and why?! Just for your own selfish needs and desire for power!"

"Oh, you are so _full of it!" _Caspian yells. "_My _desire for power? Look at you! You sent our army into a slaughter just because you wanted to relive your glory days! You, King Peter, are the most arrogant, presumptuous, conceited, selfish—"

Each of them is now facing off against each other in the middle of the room, their voices deafening. Susan sees Edmund's eyes flutter open as he lets out a groan of pain, trying to curl in on himself. Neither of the boys notices.

"SHUT _UP!"_

They both freeze and fall silent, swiveling to look in the direction the yell came from. Susan's breathing is ragged and her chest is heaving. Angry tears fill her eyes and spill down her cheeks. She has never felt so angry at _anyone _in her _entire life._

Sending them a glare and allowing Peter to see the disappointment she feels at him for not noticing their brother's awakening, she rushes over to him, sitting crisscross on the ground and carefully lifting up Edmund's head so it is settled in her lap. She looks up at Peter. "Can't you see he's _hurt?" _she says scathingly.

Edmund lets out another moan, eyes squeezed shut tight against the pain as he twists his head to the side.

"Shh, shh," Susan soothes him, stroking his hair gently. "You're alright." The action brings her a strange sense of déjà vu, remembering all the times she soothed her brother like this after a nightmare.

Edmund manages to open his eyes a slant. "Susan?"

"Yes, it's me, Ed. I'm here; you're alright, I promise," she reassures.

He blinks a few times. "What—what happened?"

Susan bites her bottom lip, glancing up at Peter who's looking at Edmund with a pained look on his face. "You—you were knocked out," she tells him.

Edmund's dark eyes go wide as realization seems to strike him. "The Witch!" he exclaims. He bolts upright too fast, causing him to sway back and forward, having to grip onto Susan to stay upright. "The Witch—she was—and Lucy—"

He's making no sense, his sentences scrambled as he looks wildly around. "Where's Lucy?!" he asks urgently.

Susan sighs, squeezing her eyes shut tight. "Edmund, she's—she's gone."

"_Gone_?" he echoes, panic growing. "What do you mean she's gone? You mean that—that Jadis—"

"Yes." Her voice is merely a whisper, but he hears it nonetheless.

"No," he says. "No no no no no. Lucy… oh Aslan, no…"

"I'm sorry," says Peter, his voice croaky, interrupting Edmund's mantra of denial. "I—I'm so sorry, Ed. If I hadn't…" he trails off, eyes downcast.

Edmund raises his head slowly, looking at Peter with a new sort of clarity. "You. You released the Witch." His eyes are pained, and he now looks at Peter as though he can't believe what he's seeing. "How _could you, _Peter?"

"I—I didn't mean—"

"After everything she's done, to you, to the girls, to _me. _How _could _you?"

Peter's eyes are suspiciously moist when he speaks again. "Edmund, please, let me explain! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry! I never meant for any of this to happen, please, you have got to believe me."

Edmund closes his eyes, face turned downward. "I trusted you," he says.

Peter looks as though Edmund has just struck him.

"Su, help me up, please," says Edmund. "I need to get out of here. I can't even _look _at him."

Peter flinches. Susan reluctantly helps Edmund stand up, wincing. In her opinion, after the way Peter has been acting, the words were well deserved, if a little harsh.

Edmund picks up his sword and steadies himself against the wall before making toward the exit. When he passes him, Peter grabs his arm. "Ed, wait—" he appeals, but Edmund wrenches free, exiting the room and turning the corner. Peter makes to go after him, but Susan quickly comes up behind him, putting a restraining hand on his shoulder.

"Don't. He needs to be alone."

**oOoOoOo**

Edmund walks through the twisting passageways of the How, his breathing hard, his fists clenched, nails digging into his skin. He isn't sure how far he has walked when he finally slows to a stop, torn between crying or screaming. He closes his eyes and tries to calm himself down, taking slow breaths. He forces his unyielding hands to unclench, and winces when he sees that his palms are bleeding slightly from small half-moon marks he has dug into his skin. His anger is ebbing away now, and he internally winces, remembering his harsh words to Peter.

_I trusted you._

_I can't even _look _at him._

He sags against the stone wall, regretting his words. Most of them aren't even true. Did he trust Peter? _Yes. _Does he _still _trust Peter? Despite everything he's done? Despite the disasterous raid, and the freeing of the Witch?

Does he?

The answer comes almost immediately:

_Yes. With my life._

Edmund knows it is wrong to be mad at Peter for succumbing to the Witch, for giving into temptation. After all, has he not done the same thing, once upon a time? He has no right to hold it over his brother when he once fell for her tricks as well, and yet...

When he betrayed his siblings, given over their location to Jadis, he hadn't known. He was a mere-ten year old boy, and had no idea that the Witch wasn't who she said to be, had no way of knowing that she was looking to slaughter them. He had a guilty, heavy feeling in his stomach, especially when Lucy told him of the White Witch, who calls herself the Queen of Narnia (_"But she really isn't," _he remembers her saying), but other than that, he had no idea of the extent of her evil, not until he had left the Beavers' dam in search of her palace.

But Peter _knows. _He knows her evil, her cruelty; he saw her ruthlessness during Beruna, saw her drive her wand through his gut. He knows of the bruises and whip marks Edmund had after being rescued from her camp. He was the one that would always comfort him when Edmund woke up screaming from terrifying nightmares of _Her_. Peter still remains the only one that Edmund has told of his stay with Jadis, the only one who knows of the extent of his injuries that she inflicted on him.

Peter was the one that after waking him from a nightmare would always reassure him that the Witch was dead and couldn't return.

Ironic isn't that that he's the one who brought her back?

Edmund sinks to the floor, despairing, his eyes squeezed shut as flashes of things long forgiven pass before his eyelids.

_Ice cold dungeons… the snap of the whip… the sting of a hand delivering the hard blow across his face... tight ropes cutting off his circulation, holding him, restraining him… stony eyes bearing into his like twin blades, seeming to freeze the blood in his veins…_

He skews his eyes shut, pressing his hands to his head in order to stop the evasion of memories, only to feel something sticky. Pulling his hands back, he sees they are covered in blood, only then realizing that his head is aching from his wound. He slowly reaches up to feel it, and then grimaces as he's hit with a whole new wave of pain. He'll have to get that fixed up soon, he knows.

His head is throbbing now and the memories are coming faster now, flashing before his eyes before he can even register them. He sees glimpses of stone, and snow, and ice, and remembers the cold, and the pain and regret. He no longer has nightmares every night of his time as the White Witch's prisoner, but they still haven't faded completely. Every once in a blue moon he still wakes up screaming, shaking after another dream of his imprisonment with her, or even worse, of his siblings' deaths at her hands. Out of all his siblings, he has always been the one to have nightmares the most frequently, even before Narnia, though now they are much worse. It was very embarrassing really, to have Peter shake him awake, or when Susan would have to soothe them. During the years they lived at Cair Paravel, he had often woke with his siblings sleeping around him, the night after another awful nightmare.

The Witch. Jadis. She has always been the center of his nightmares. And now she is back, the one person whom he hates, fears, more than any other, is back. And what is even worse, she has Lucy.

Edmund knows his siblings must be going crazy, worrying what's happening to Lucy; and with good reason. But none of them—Peter, Susan, Caspian—none of them understands the horrific reality of the situation; not really, not like he does. They don't know the kind of pain that Jadis inflicts on her prisoners—haven't seen the way she _enjoys _it. But he has; he's seen it, he's experienced it, and he has the scars to prove it. And to think of it happening to dear, sweet, innocent Lucy... it about tears his heart in two.

He feels lost, helpless, and he hates it. He wants to punch something, he wants to scream, he wants to do anything, as long as he's doing _something_, but he knows none of it will help. So instead he allows himself to slide down the wall onto the dirty ground, pulling his knnes up to his chest much like Susan did earlier. His arms folded across his knees, he buries his face in them, thinking of Lucy and her golden hair, and bright smile, and bubbly personality. He wonders where she is now, and what the Witch plans to do with her.

_Aslan, please keep her safe._

**And there you have it, that's the end of chapter 1! I hope you are interested in it, and are curious of what happens next, such as what's going to happen to Lucy. I've never written a Narnia fic before, so I hope everyone's in character. Constructive criticism is welcome, but please no flames.**

**Last of all, please review! It's not asking much, and don't be afraid to tell me what you think, since I love long reviews (but really, I like any kind of reviews, even if your just telling me my story is good, or just urging me to update).**

**Ciao!**

**-Phoenix(:**


	2. Chapter 2: Faithless

**Disclaimer: ***_FAN_*fiction-enough said.

_Firstly, I would like to apologize for the long wait on this chapter. I was totally set on getting it up in less than 2 weeks but, alas, I am only fourteen, which means that (sadly) I still have school, which has technology that allows parents to check your grades daily! Yay? I don't think so. Anyway, long story short, I was grounded :( But now I'm back and I typed up this chapter as fast as I could._

_Sorry for all you action-junkies out there, but this chapter is mostly filler. Sorry, but it needed to happen. Next few chapters should be more exciting, promise!_

**2. FAITHLESS**

_{ "Faithless is that he says farewell when the road darkens." – J. R. Tolkien } _

"_Ow! _Susan, would you _watch it? _That hurts!"

"Well, it wouldn't so much if you'd only stop _squirming—" _There is a loud hiss of pain, and then a huff of annoyance. "Edmund! Stop. Moving! Just lay still, will you?!"

"I'm trying! Pardon me if it's a bit difficult with you poking a needle through my skull."

"Well, then try _harder."_

Susan Pevensie, Gentle Queen of Narnia, is sitting up against the headboard of a bed. Her spill of dark hair falls into her face, her head bent downwards, her expression contorted into one of concentration as she worries her bottom lip, staring down at the pale boy who's head rests in her lap. Her hands are shaking only slightly, almost unperceptively, as she holds a needle between her fingers and uses it to stitch up the wound on the younger boy's head. Her hands are sticky with his blood.

Edmund, the boy in her lap, is wincing and squirming as she does this, wearing a pained expression. He fidgets again, causing the needle to miss and dig sharply into his scalp. "_Ow!" _he yelps, giving his sister a scathing glance.

Catching his look, Susan frowns at him. "Oh, stop being such a baby, Ed. You've had much worse."

"Try having a needle strung through your scalp, and see how _you _like it," he snaps.

Susan frowns. "I'm only trying to help," she says softly. She sounds hurt, and Edmund sighs, looking up at her apologetically. How many people's feelings is he going to hurt? First Peter, and now Susan. (_Not, _Edmund reminds himself, _that Peter didn't deserve it._)

"Sorry, Su. I didn't mean…"

Susan sighs, pulling on the string around the needle and cutting it, knotting it and setting the needle on the bedside table as she finishes the stitching. "I know, Ed, really. We're all just frustrated and feeling useless. You're just taking all of it out on me without meaning to, and I don't blame you; Peter got the brunt of mine earlier this morning."

It is morning, the morning after Jadis returned, and Edmund didn't get even a peek of sleep last night, except if you count those few fifteen minutes. He fell asleep in the passageway and Susan woke him up to help him to bed, despite his protests. Once in bed he found himself unable to drift off to sleep again, despite the fact that his bed is much more comfortable than the cold stone floor. His mind ran rampant with possibilities of what pain the Witch could be inflicting on his baby sister. The gruesome things he imagined made him sick to his stomach.

So now as Susan finishes stitching up his wounds (she _insisted_), Edmund leans back in her lap, eyelids fluttering, stifling a yawn. No, he will _not _fall asleep. Not when Lucy's still out there somewhere with Jadis and there is a decision to be made; not while their forces stand outside waiting for their next orders. Not with the White Witch _and _Miraz still out there to deal with. Narnia is in more danger than ever before. He can't allow himself the luxury of being reprieved of his duties as King.

Susan looks down at him, brushing a few strands of dark hair from his forehead. "You should get some sleep," she tells him softly.

Edmund closes his eyes briefly and allows himself to imagine for just an instant, the prospect of actually obeying her request, of drifting off and letting the blissful darkness swallow him, where he wouldn't have to deal with all the hell that is currently breaking lose around him; where he can imagine that Lucy is safe and sound, tucked away under the covers in her own room. But hiding from your problems never helps anyone, and he knows that he can't.

Edmund lets out a reluctant sigh, reopening his eyes. "No, I can't. Not with everything that's happening." He struggles to sit up, his head still throbbing from Susan's stitches, though feeling significantly better than it did yesterday. "We can't afford to waste time, not with the Witch out there, not with Miraz. Especially with Lucy—"

He lets out a shuddering breath that wracks his whole body. _Lu. _How on earth will they get her back? How can they—how can _he—_get through this? Defeating the Witch once is one thing, but to do it a second time, and with so small an army…

He sighs, fists clenching and unclenching, feeling utterly drained. Through disheartened eyes, he looks up at his sister. "Su, what are we going to do?"

Susan sighs as well, looking just as utterly drained as he is, and it's only then that he takes in her appearance. Her face is pale, paler than its usual porcelain color, and her lips are chapped and bitten. Her hands, covered in his blood, are shaking slightly, and her eyes are rimmed with red and shadows, assuring that he isn't the only one who got no sleep last night.

She shakes her head. "I don't know, Ed, I just don't know," and Edmund is struck with a sudden urge to embrace his elder sister and tell her everything will be alright, other than the other way around. Because she's as lost as he is, he realizes. They all are.

He takes her hand. "It'll be alright, Susan. It always is." She manages a weak smile.

Someone knocks on the frame of the open doorway, and both siblings turn to see Peter, face worn and tired-looking, standing in the doorway. He looks dead on his feet, as if he could drop any moment. Edmund's chest immediately tightens at the sight of him, though whether it is out of anger, or regret for what he said yesterday, he isn't sure. He still feels betrayed by his brother's thoughtless actions, and he's not ready to forgive him just yet.

"Morning, Susan," Peter greets her. "Edmund," he nods in his direction. Peter's eyes are more cautious when addressing him, as though he's treading carefully, not wanting to set his little brother off. Edmund can see the underlying guilt in his blue eyes, but still can't bring himself to utter an apology.

Edmund nods curtly in acknowledgement, but makes no verbal reply. Peter seems slightly hurt by this as he moves to sit with them, perching on the edge of the right side of the bed.

"Are you alright, Ed?" Peter asks, eyes roaming over his body as if searching for any visible sign of injury. "All stitched up?"

"I fixed him up fine," Susan replies before he can open his mouth to respond. "I will say I did a rather fine job considering that he was squirming around and complaining like a big ol' baby."

Edmund huffs. "I was _not."_

"You _were," _Susan replies with a half smirk. "You're almost as bad as Peter."

"Hey!" Peter protests.

Susan shakes her head. "Don't you even try and deny it, Peter, you know it's true. If you were to ask me, I would reckon you boys rely on Lucy's cordial too greatly."

It is suddenly as if all the air has been sucked from the room at her words. Edmund can very clearly _feel _the sudden tension; it's that palpable.

Lucy. Lucy is gone, and they have a decision to make and it has to be made before this night. Would they agree to surrender their army in order to get Lucy back, the army that's already rapidly dwindling in numbers? If they decide to do that it will leave them helpless against Jadis, not to mention all of the Telemarines. But if they don't, then Lucy…

_No. _Edmund stops his train of thought before it can go any farther. _We'll save her. We have to._

"Peter, we have to do something. Lu's out there somewhere; she could be hurt. Only Aslan knows what she is going through. We have to get to her somehow."

Peter sighs, running a hand through his golden locks, something Edmund knows to be a habit of his when he's feeling frustrated. "You think I don't know that? _I'm _the one who released the Witch. _I'm _the one who put Lucy in danger. I'm to blame for all of this."

"Nonsense. This isn't your fault; it's no one's, really." Susan looks to her brother as if expecting him to say something reassuring to Peter as well, but Edmund says nothing of the sort, just pressing his lips together in a thin line, not meeting either of his siblings' eyes.

All is silent for a moment, and Edmund can feel his brother's eyes on him. Then Peter turns his gaze to Susan. "I thought you would be furious with me," Peter says. "Especially after what occurred amid Caspian and I."

Edmund wonders what occurred between him and the prince. Edmund knows Peter dislikes Caspian, and vise-versa, and Peter must have said something truly bad if he feels guilty because of it. Harsh words have been traded between the pair of them before, and neither of them ever seems as if they regret what has been said in the slightest.

Susan huffs at that. "Don't even mention that name to me, Peter Pevensie!" she says, working herself up into a rage. "I was mad enough at you for releasing Her—but for Caspian to have the nerve—the _idiocy—_to call her up in the _first place-! _You, I suppose, I can make allowances for. She lured you in; but with Caspian, he had a choice in the matter. He _chose _to call her up, even before she could start to work her magic on his mind! He has all but betrayed us—where is his faith, his _loyalty?"_

Edmund takes in his sister's words, marveling on how completely her feelings and opinions have changed toward the prince. Just yesterday she was talking of what a marvelous King he would make, smiling brightly, eyes full of warmth. But still no matter how angry Susan is, Edmund knows that that is not her most dominant emotion she's feeling toward Caspian: she is disappointed. She expected better of him.

Just like, he supposes, he expected better of Peter.

Peter closes his eyes, the guilt once again surfacing on his face. "She lured me," he says in a strained voice, and neither of them has to ask who he's talking about. "I shouldn't have listened but it was like I was hypnotized—I couldn't look away." He looks down. "I'm sorry."

Susan shakes her head. "I know you are. But I just don't understand how you—how _he—_could listen to her, after all she has done to us."

"I do," Edmund says softly. He sees Peter's head whip up to look at him, eyes hopeful, thinking, maybe his brother might be starting to forgive him, but Edmund doesn't meet his eyes, and he can see Peter deflate in hurt and disappointment.

"Edmund," Susan starts in what's supposed to be a comforting tone but does nothing to soothe him now, "this is nothing like what happened with you and the Witch. You were lured; Caspian chose to release the Witch, he had a _choice—"_

"So did I," Edmund points out. "No one forced me to leave the Beavers' Dam that day."

Susan opens her mouth to protest, along with Peter, most likely to start the familiar 'you-really-need-to-stop-beating-yourself-up-over-this' lecture,but Edmund shakes his head, trying to signal to his siblings that it doesn't matter. They will never understand, anyway. Besides, they don't need to focus on what Peter calls his guilt complex that 'rivals the size of even Narnia Herself'. Right now they need to focus on Jadis; on Lucy, and how they are going to get her back.

"We're going to have to tell them, you know," Edmund says.

Peter looks at him, baffled. "Who?"

"The Narnians," he clarifies in a 'duh' sort of voice.

Peter pales significantly while Susan looks to Peter. "He's right, you know. They need to know what's going on and that one of their Queens is missing. They _deserve _to know." She looks imploringly at him.

He sighs and runs a hand over his face. "I know, I know." He buries his face in his hands. "They'll all hate me."

Seeing his brother like this, Edmund has to fight back the instinctive urge to comfort his brother. It is something he is used to doing, and watching Peter in this state, not doing anything to help, feels wrong and foreign.

It is Susan who comes to his aid today. "They won't hate you," she says reassuringly, gripping his shoulder. Her voice is firm and confident, but Edmund is glad that Pete isn't looking up, for her slight doubt shows in her eyes.

"Who knows," Edmund says, wanting to see some reaction from his brother other than the most recent anger and guilt, something that he can actually recognize, "they might hate you. Probably will, actually."

Susan elbows him sharply in the side at his careless words and offhand tone, not noticing that he's watching Peter closely, judging his reaction. The unexpected blow causes him to double over, bruises from yesterday still tender.

Peter flinches, and for a second he looks angry, but then he's back to being guilty, slumping where he sits. Edmund inwardly sighs.

_Come on, Peter, you need to stop this. We need you; _Narnia n_eeds you. And they don't need angst-ridden Peter, or raging-teenager Peter; they need their High King._

"What will I tell them?" Peter asks, lifting his head from his hands.

"The truth?" Edmund suggests, the words coming out a bit harsher than he meant them to.

Susan puts a calming hand on his shoulder. "You'll tell them what you have to," she tells him. "And together, we'll get Lucy back."

**oOoOoOo**

Hours later, Edmund stands outside the How, sword sheathed at his hip, right hand closed around the hilt, posture tense as he watches Peter and the Narnians. Susan is next to him, looking truly like a maiden in her long, flowing, scarlet gown, and hair, curled, falling down her back. She watches Peter as well, who is standing slightly in front of them, the Narnians gathered around them all, waiting for their High King's next words. Caspian stands off to the right, casting occasional glances at Susan when she isn't looking. Edmund wishes he wouldn't. He knows that he feels guilty and that he cares for his sister, but that still doesn't give anyone the right to look at his sister like _that._

"Cousins, friends," Peter begins, "I have gathered you all hear to inform you of events that took place last night near the Stone Table. As you might have noticed, one of my royal sisters is not present with us." He takes a deep breath, and Edmund can see the struggle going on in his head.

"Queen Lucy has been captured by the White Witch."

Edmund expects roars from all the Narnians, disbelieving shouts and outraged yells. But instead there is only a deadly silence from the assembled crowd, the tension and fear and disbelief so thick that he feels he can suffocate in it. They seem to go still, the way a pride of lions might go still when it spots a gazelle.

"_Captured by the White Witch_?" someone repeats incredulously. Upon farther inspection, Edmund can see that it is a skunk. She is partially concealed near the back of the crowd. "_Impossible. _Whatever do you mean by that?"

"I think it is quite clear what His Majesty means," says a leopard near the front. Her majestic, speckled fur is dirtied from the raid, and her black eyes, with no irises, only pupil, blaze fiercely and determinedly and made one think of dark tunnels, though not in a bad way. "Our Queen has been kidnapped by Jadis Herself, and we must see to it that she is returned to us safely."

"Absurd!" calls out another voice. "The Witch is dead! We all know the stories; Jadis is _in the ground, _Aslan put her there Himself!"

A ripple of whispers seem to go through the crowd at this assessment. Edmund contemplates for a moment saying that technically Jadis was never in the ground _per se, _since from what he has heard of it, her body melted into nothingness after Aslan ripped her head off, but he figures this isn't relevant to the situation and wisely keeps his mouth shut.

"That is true," Peter says, nodding his head at the Animal that spoke respectively, though Edmund can see a hint of anger beneath his brother's calm mask, annoyed at being spoken to that way. "But a fort night ago, she returned, and took our Queen hostage." His eyes are blazing at these words, and fear is emanating off the crowd in strong waves. Though a few of them still shift uneasily, not believing, not _willing _to believe, so Peter says, "My royal siblings and Prince Caspian were also present when these events occurred. They will be able to verify the validity of my words."

All eyes immediately turn to either Edmund, Susan, or Caspian, supposedly waiting for one of them to step forward and verify this explanation. Caspian shifts uncomfortably under the scrutiny and Susan makes no move to step up to the plate either, so with a slight sigh, Edmund steps forward so he is now standing in the front of the crowd next to his brother.

"It is true; I saw her," he tells them, and is proud of himself when he manages to keep his voice steady. If there is anyone who has the power to make him terrified by just their mere _name_, it is the White Witch. "I saw her there, flesh and blood. She has returned; I even have the bruises to prove it, and she has taken my sister hostage." He glares at them all, feeling incredibly frustrated with them. "She is your Queen and if you care about her _at all, _then you all would be working on a plan to get her back instead of bickering like useless _idiots!"_

The crowd goes deadly still at Edmund's fierce words, looking stunned. Quite honestly, Edmund feels stunned as well. Where did that come from? Pent-up frustration, perhaps? Misplaced anger? He's not sure, but either way, it got the job done. Some of the Narnians are looking down in shame while others stare at their Kings with a new determined blaze in their eyes. They will do whatever it takes to get Lucy back, Edmund knows, no matter the consequences. Despite their flaws and doubts and misgivings, they are loyal until the end.

The imposing, bronze Centaur, Glenstorm, moves to the front of the crowd and faces Edmund head on. His onyx eyes are filled with respect and unmoving loyalty, and Edmund is reminded ever-so strongly of Oreius in that moment. "What are your orders, My Liege?"

Edmund is momentarily caught off guard that _he _is the one being asked to give orders; he's not High King. When in Narnia he would often command the troops and armies, issue orders and commands, but most of the time that was when Peter was away or out of commission. Now, as Glenstorm speaks directly to him, Edmund glances back at Peter, but he makes no move to give Glenstorm instructions. Susan wears a small smile directed toward him and is watching the proceedings silently.

Edmund faces Glenstorm and the rest of Narnia's people, the rest of _his _people, and straightens up, squaring his shoulders. If anyone who doesn't know he is a King is to look upon him in this moment, even they would be able to see the slight aura of power and authority that surrounds him. "The Witch has given us until sunset today to surrender our army or she will kill our Queen," he tells the crowd. Faces become graver at this and there are some fearful gasps. "But she is no Queen as she perceives herself to be, and I will not myself surrender myself to her, not today, not any day. The only person I shall kneel to is Aslan."

There are several agreeing yells at this, and Peter shifts uncomfortably. It seems any mention of Aslan makes him uneasy these days.

Edmund continues, "She shall not lay a hand on our Valiant Queen and we shall not forfeit our army. Her request has been denied." He then turns to Glenstorm. "Gather a few of our Birds and send them out in every direction. They can scout for Jadis and maybe catch sight of where she is keeping Lucy."

Glenstorm nods curtly and goes to do just that. Susan mutters something about target practice and walks off. The Narnians take the Queen's departure to mean that the meeting is adjourned and they all begin to dissipate.

Edmund sighs, losing his uptight posture as his brother looks at him with something that looks suspiciously like pride, and then clamps a hand on his shoulder.

"Well done, brother."

And even though Edmund can't possibly be any angrier with him, he still can't cease the feeling of warmth that spreads through him when Peter speaks the praise.

**oOoOoOo**

Caspian stands outside of the passageway that leads to Queen Susan's room. He wants to go in and talk with her, to explain and apologize, but he isn't sure; will she spite him for his actions, push him away in favor of her anger? He won't blame her if she does, after what he has done. The guilt is still eating him alive. How could he have _done that? _How could he have released _her? _After everything Professor Cornelius told him of her reign of terror in Narnia…

He doesn't know how to feel. It seems all he can feel now is guilt ( that, and spontaneous, unreasonable anger toward Peter). It pains him to admit that when King Edmund approached him about telling the Narnians of the Witch's return, for a moment, he had a traitorous thought: he didn't want to tell them. He didn't want to feel the shame of what he had done, and throughout the whole meeting his guilt came rushing back at full force, and he hadn't been able to stop sneaking glances at Queen Susan no matter how often he tried.

She truly was an exquisite beauty; her porcelain skin and cascade of dark locks. He has never met another woman like her, and it is not just her looks that attract him to her, but her heart, her gentleness. The way she looks after everyone, is willing to help anyone, even a complete stranger. Her heart is one of the purest he has ever seen; truly a Gentle Queen of Narnia. He does not deserve her forgiveness, he knows, but he cannot help but long for it. Because he can't stand the thought of her hating him forever.

"Are you going to just stand there, or are you actually going to come in?" comes Susan's soft voice from beyond the doorway.

Caspian starts, jumping slightly, musing on how he should be more alert. Has she known he was there the whole time?

Palms suddenly feeling sweaty, he wipes them off, feeling unexpectedly nervous as he steps into her room. He can't help feel slightly uneasy by this, because even though he would never even think of making a move in on Susan, it is considered highly improper for a man to in a lady's bed chambers, especially alone.

Susan is sitting in the chair in front of her vanity as she sweeps her thick hair back from her shoulders to unclip her earrings, a pair of diamond studs. His breath catches in his throat at just the mere sight of her; no matter how many times he looks upon her, he still can't help being struck by her beauty each and every time. Susan's eyes flicker up to meet his in the mirror, and then flicker down again.

"Caspian," she says lightly, her voice tense, careful. "Was there something you needed?"

He clears his throat. "Yes, actually," he says, striding so he is standing only a few feet behind the chair she is sitting in. "I came to apologize."

Susan looks down, not meeting his eyes. "What for?" Her voice is oddly strained.

He knows she knows what for, and he tells her so.

"You know what for. I released the Witch."

One of Susan's front teeth digs into her lower lip. "That was an accident. And it is not as though the blame lies with you alone."

_It lies with Peter as well. _Caspian feels that familiar roar of anger rise up inside of him and he pushes it down. "But _I _am the one who called her up in the first place." Part of him wants her to deny it, to say that it isn't his fault and he's not to blame, while another part wants her to scream; to get angry, get furious, to hate him because he deserves it. But she does neither, just remaining silent.

"I have committed the ultimate treachery," he says softly, hanging his head in shame.

Susan sighs at this, and finally turns to look at him. "You didn't know," she says, standing up and walking a few paces in his general direction. Despite her words though, she still remains cold toward him; detached.

They are standing mere inches away now, and Caspian raises a hand to cup her cheek, but changes his mind and allows his arm to drop halfway through the motion. "I'm sorry," is all he can think to say. It is pitiful, he thinks. _Pathetic._

She sighs, a light, pitying sound. Does she pity him? He doesn't want her anger, but he doesn't want her pity either.

Her voice, when she speaks, is as light as a wind on a spring's day. "And what is it, Caspian, which you are sorry for?"

He thinks, surely she must _know _what he is sorry for. Is she really as cruel to make him speak of his sins aloud? Nevertheless, he inclines his head. "Many things, my lady," he says. She has told him many times to just call her by name, but he no longer thinks he has a right to that casualty. "For the freedom of the Witch and the capture of Her Majesty Queen Lucy. For not having faith that we will beat Miraz. For listening to the horrendous Fell Beasts, and for many more events, events I cannot make up for. I only wish to be able to redeem myself in your eyes."

"You wish for my forgiveness," she notes. It isn't a question, it is a statement. Nevertheless, he nods.

"Yes, I do."

There is a moment of silence and then Susan speaks. "Forgiveness isn't something to be so easily given, Caspian. What makes you believe you deserve mine?" The words aren't harsh as they sound, they are soft, whispered. They aren't meant to be biting or to hurt him; (she's known as the Gentle, after all) he can see she truly is just curious to the answer.

"I don't," he says honestly, without hesitation. "I know I do not deserve your forgiveness or respect, not after Jadis. It would only be fair of you to turn me away, and yet I can no more bear the thought of you being angry with me than I can bear the thought of Miraz ruling Narnia forever." Caspian bows his head. "I have no right to ask for it, but the forgiveness of Your Majesty is all I seek."

Susan bows her head and almost looks regretful when she says the words: "I am sorry, but I cannot give it."

Caspian closes his eyes, his fingernails biting sharply into his skin. He has expected this, has not expected Her Majesty to forgive him, but it still strikes a painful cord in his heart nonetheless. Because she was acting so _normal _towards him, not angry, that for a second he allowed himself to believe that he is forgiven. But it is not to be; his guilt grows stronger and Caspian wonders how much guilt one person can feel. Surely one person alone cannot feel so much remorse? Surely there is a limit, an end.

"Susan, please, I'm sorry…" he tries again. "Please, just tell me what I can do to fix this."

She shakes her head, looking up at him through solemn eyes. "You can't fix it. The Witch is free. She took my sister. The damage has already been done." She sighs. "Please Caspian," she whispers, "I just… I just need some time. To deal with everything. Just please leave me alone."

She might has well of stabbed him through with his own sword. "Susan, I promise to do better. I'll make it up to you," he pleads. "I mean, if you let me, I want to try."

Susan slams her hand down on the wood of her dresser in frustration, maybe even anger, and Caspian flinches, fearing he has gone too far, has pushed her too hard when it is not his place to do so.

She takes slow, even breaths, seeming to be trying to calm herself down. "Look," she tells him, and when she speaks she sounds weary, tired and beyond her years, "I'm sorry if this is hard for you. But I told you what I need. So I can't help feeling like the reason you want my forgiveness is so you can feel better about yourself. That's not my problem." She looks away, and recognizing a dismissal when he hears one, the prince turns away, feeling stung.

When he is at the door he is stopped by her voice calling out, "Caspian."

He freezes and turns his head. "Yes?"

Susan isn't facing him, but rather facing the mirror again, looking down. "If it is truly forgiveness you seek and nothing else, then dwell on this: Perhaps I am not the correct one to ask it of."

He waits, thinking that perhaps she will elaborate on her vague words, but she is once again silent. Bowing his head, Caspian reluctantly leaves her chambers, leaving the Gentle Queen alone to her troubling thoughts.

**oOoOoOo**

Lucy doesn't know where she is. She is clueless to where they are heading. During her years as a reigning queen of Narnia, she knew Narnia better than the back of her hand. She knew how to reach the Eastern Sea from a pathway not far from Cair Paravel, she could navigate through the Shuddering Woods, and could have made her way through the south, her domain of Narnia, even if she were blindfolded. She had every inch of her land memorized from her home, Cair Paravel, in the north, to the lamppost on the edge of its borders. Every stick, every pebble, had permanently engraved itself into her mind.

But that was then; this is now.

The young queen no longer knows this place as she has before; it is different, and at certain times and locations, practically unrecognizable. It mourns her to know so much of the Narnia she knew has been lost; the trees cut down, civilization driving away Talking Animals from their homes, rivers that have run dry, Cair Paravel, the once magnificent palace that could be seen over all the trees in all far away corners of the kingdom, reduced to dust and ruins.

Her Narnia is gone. A wilder, more barbaric and savage one has taken its place.

The Witch keeps a steel-tight grasp on Lucy's wrist, her grip rough as stone, her skin an icy cold that freezes Lucy's blood in her veins. She is cold and imposing as she drags her captive though the thicket, not slowing down in the slightest as thorns and tree branches tear through Lucy's gown and become entangled in her hair, ripping it painfully from her scalp. The Witch hasn't uttered a word since they disappeared from the How, and Lucy finds her silence more than a little disconcerting. They now are traveling through a thick wood, Jadis dragging Lucy roughly in order for the younger girl to keep up with the false queen's long strides. The foliage and underbrush in this forest is thick, thicker than that of the Shuddering Woods has ever been, even during the Golden Age. She rationalizes that she could be in the Western Wood, but she couldn't be sure. If Edmund were here, he would know. That part of woods had always been his domain. Even as changed as they are after so many centuries, she has no doubt that her youngest brother would be able to recognize them.

_Edmund. _Thinking of him makes Lucy think of her other siblings as well, of Peter and Susan, and even Caspian and Trumpkin, and of all her new Narnian friends she has met since entering Narnia for the second time (_well, technically, _she reminds herself, _for me it's the fourth time_.) through the train station. But mostly, she thinks of her siblings; she remembers the looks on their faces as the Witch was released, remembers Peter's guilt, and Susan's disbelief, and Edmund's look of utter horror. She remembers the loud crack her brother's head made as he hit the stone wall, and is suddenly made very painfully aware of the cordial hidden underneath her attire, a cordial that her siblings would not be able to use to heal Ed of his injuries, which are most likely very severe. This realization sends a slight tendril of panic to unfurl in her chest. The thought of her brother, dying from a nasty head wound, pops into her head so suddenly and unexpectedly that she stops dead in her tracks, trying to suppress the sudden taste of bile rising up in the back of her throat.

Her stopping causes the Witch, who is continuing forward, to be pulled back abruptly, like a dog on a leash, not expecting the abrupt stop. She looks back at the Valiant Queen with a look of mass-irritation before giving a rather strong pull on her wrist, yanking her forward as she once again stumbles forward in effort to keep up. "Keep up now, would you?" she snaps, the first words she has spoken since the How. "I can't afford to be delayed."

"Then maybe if you will just let me go," Lucy tries, "then you will not have to worry of such." She knows though, even as she says the words, that the Witch will never listen. After all, Jadis took her for a reason. Leverage, perhaps? Jadis does not answer, simply continues to tug her along, and Lucy speaks up, "Where is it exactly that you are taking me?"

"Never you mind," the other responds. "You'll know when we arrive there."

"And when will that be?"

Once again, she receives no answer. Not that she expected one.

"I don't know exactly what you're planning to do with me," she starts again, marveling at her own courage for saying what she's about to say, "but whatever it is, you won't get away with it."

The Witch slowly pivots in her place, not looking threatened by Lucy's words at all; if anything, she looks amused. "Is that so?" she says, the lilt in her voice betraying her amusement, and that she has absolute confidence that she in fact _will _get away with it, whatever _it _is.

"My siblings won't just let you take me. They will search _every _corner of _every _world until they find me and get me to safety, and I pray Aslan have mercy on you when they do." Yet, even as she says these words, a large part of Lucy wishes her siblings _won't _come after her. She remembers what Jadis said about surrendering the army in return for not killing her. But surely, her siblings and Caspian will not give into her demands. Surely, she thinks, her siblings will realize that the fate and future of Narnia is much more important than her life.

The Witch waves a hand through the air, deeming the threat of her brother and sister unimportant, which makes her slightly irked. "Your siblings are no threat to me. They are weak, cowardly. They fear me, and as a result of that fear, are leaving themselves vulnerable. You are mere children." A smile curves at her lips. "Your brother could hardly hold his sword up he was shaking so badly," she says snidely, and Lucy feels a surge of anger rush through her on Edmund's behalf.

She glares at the woman before her, her bottom lip trembling in suppressed anger. "You underestimate them," she tells her coldly, "and my brother is one of the bravest people I have ever met, so don't you dare say a word against him."

In the depths of her fathomless eyes, Lucy sees a flash of rage, but Jadis quickly recovers herself, shrugging and gazing at her coolly. "It is no matter to me," she says offhandedly. "Soon I shall get what I desire, and if I were to kill you, no one is stopping me. Your siblings will not save you."

"That does not matter, so long I have faith. I shall place myself in the Lion's paws and trust Him."

Jadis's lips thin. "Your prayers are fruitless. The Lion is not with you."

Lucy raises her chin defiantly. "He is always with me. Wherever I may be, He is there."

Jadis's nostrils flare and her grip on the Valiant's wrist compulsively tightens. Lucy cries out and reflexively tries to yank free, which only causes to send another sharp jolt of pain through her arm. "Your Lion is _nothing, _understand? _Nothing_!"

And then, with renewed vigor, Jadis continues to drag her as they continue their journey forward. This time, Lucy does not speak and lets the oppressive silence swallow them up once more.

They rush through the forest, Lucy's garments snagging on branches and leaving them ripped beyond repair. They continue on, Lucy's legs aching, begging for reprieve, for about five minutes longer when there is the sound of a twig snapping from somewhere behind them. This time, not just Lucy freezes, but the Witch as well.

She slowly turns in place, peering around the thick underbrush. "Who is there?" she demands. "Reveal yourself!"

There is but no answer but the wind. There is nothing but silence.

Then there is a sudden loud cry as a dark shape at the edge of her vision comes hurtling out of its place hidden among the trees, crashing into Lucy with full force. She lets out a high-pitched scream, more out of surprise than actual fright, and is thrown to the ground, impacting in a way that will surely leave a bruise. All the air rushes out of her, her vision unfocused as she grapples for her right boot where she has hidden her dagger inside.

But there is neither need or time for her to draw her weapon as the blurred form that knocked into her is plucked of her as lightly as one would pluck a flower, as if he weighs close to nothing. Lucy scrambles up into a sitting position, blinking to focus her vision, eyes wide in alarm as she takes in the sight before her.

The Witch, her face looking feral, is gazing up at the man who trampled Lucy, who she now holds in a choke-grip with her right hand, lifting the man high up in the air. The man, who's face is rapidly changing colors as he scrapples desperately at his neck, clawing futilely at the fingers that are cutting off his air supply, has dark hair and a not-too-lengthy beard, the end of which is turning white. He is darkly skinned and is wearing battle armor, carrying a sword in its sheathe at his side. He's a Telemarine.

"Stop it!" Lucy cries. "Stop _it, _put him _down_!" Even though he is a Telemarine, and all Telemarines she has met have been set out to kill Caspian and them, and help Miraz gain control over Narnia, she isn't going to let a man be strangled, no matter the circumstances, not when they have done nothing wrong (sure, he attacked her, but they don't know _why _he had; innocent until proven guilty, after all).

To her surprise, the Witch listens to her and drops the soldier. He falls to a heap on the ground, scrambling backwards and away from the icy woman that can instill fear in the hearts of even the bravest man. But he has made one fatal error in this move, for he now finds himself backed up against a tree with no route of escape as the fearsome Witch Jadis strides up to him, a cold fury held behind her calculating eyes. He is trapped as the Witch presses the end of her wand to his throat. He gulps nervously, eyes crossed as he stares down of it.

"What is your name, Son of Adam? Who do you serve?"

The Telemarine's face is bone white with fear when he replies, "I go by the name of Sospian, my lady. I, like every other Telemarine of these parts, serve the rightful King of this land."

The Witch's eyes narrow. "Rightful king? You serve the weak boy given the undeserving title of 'Magnificent'?"

Lucy sees the confusion in Sospian's eyes, and as he opens his mouth, she cuts in, "Perhaps it would be best if we were to let him go! He's very obviously a Telemarine, he's not likely to know anything useful!" She knows her voice sounds desperate, but she can care less. She absolutely cannot let Jadis know of Miraz. Call it guidance from Aslan, a queen's intuition, or some kind of other greater power, but everything inside her is telling her to get Jadis away, to shut Sospian up. The Witch cannot know of Miraz, she _cannot_.

But Jadis opts for ignoring her, pressing her wand farther into the Telemarine's windpipe. "_Who _do you serve?" she asks again, this time more forcefully.

"King Miraz," Sospian gasps, his voice raspy. "He is King of this country. I know nothing of this 'Magnificent' you speak of."

Jadis tilts her head to the side, considering. "Interesting," she murmurs. "Tell me, Sospian, why were you attempting to assault the girl?"

Although Lucy rather wishes Sospian will shut up, she can't help but be curious of the same thing. Why did this Telemarine attempt to attack her?

"I shall tell you not a thing, woman," he says. "I shall not betray my king by giving away his orders." Still, Lucy can't help but think how this resolution won't last judging by how petrified he looks.

Jadis's eyes flash. "You will tell me this instant or I shall slowly turn your body to stone and then crush each part of your body piece by piece."

The Telemarine visibly pales. "My King Miraz has received orders from an anonamous source that the youngest Queen of Old had been kidnapped. He asked me and few other of his most trusted men to search the words for her in order to capture her himself, in hopes of luring his nephew and the other Kings and Queen of Old."

"This Miraz you speak of," the Witch begins, "he wishes to _kill _the royal siblings? To take over Narnia?"

Sospian nods a yes to both questions.

A cold smirk spreads its way across the Witch's face, and the look itself makes Lucy shiver, her stomach filled with dread. _This is _not _good._

"It sounds as though this 'king' of yours has his priorities straight," Jadis observes. Slowly, she lowers her staff from Sospian's throat. "I will let you go, on one condition," she concedes. "You take me to your King. It seems as though we will have a lot to discuss and much to achieve."

And Lucy's insides fill with panic as she wonders where in all possible dimensions Aslan is now.

**Author's Note: The Witch... and Miraz. That is definitely a recipe for disaster. What will are favorite monarchs do now?**

**Anyway, once again, sorry for the wait. Hope you enjoyed the chapter despite the lack of action and excitingness. (excitingness-is that a word?) I'll update sooner next time, thanks for all your astounding reviews, they were very flattering and a lot more praise then I was expecting. I'm flattered that you guys think I'm such a good writer.**

**Plz review!**

**-Phoenix (:**


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